An awareness that he was moving woke William. Though, he didn't open his eyes until whatever he laid on jostled and jolted to a stop. His lids popped open, but the darkness about him was nearly as black as it had been with his eyes closed.
He felt around. Straw and leaves met his fingertips first, then they touched something harder, firmer. His guess was wood. He quickly took in the area with his hands. It seemed he was in some kind of wooden box, but the box didn't have a lid. He sent a quick 'Thank you' to the heavens for that.
“Damned hole,” he heard Petra's voice say right before the side of the box lifted, making him lean into the opposite side.
The box moved forward, and a familiar squeak met William’s ears. He immediately knew that he was in the old wagon from the house. The one the donkey used to pull behind it. Well, before the donkey died. They had ended up eating the meat from the animal, though it didn't have much meat to give. William was certain the donkey had starved to death. But losing it had made things that much harder on his family.
“You could have gotten out. Yes, I know that you are awake,” Petra said to him, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Sorry, ma'am,” he said. A pounding in his head and a twisting in his gut began in the moment he chose to speak. “Oh, I don't feel so well.”
“Don't call me ma'am. You use my name. That is the reason I gave it to you.”
The smell of the drink she had given him earlier tickled his nostrils. The sound of something clacking was followed by a small spark and a flame came to life at the end of a torch. Light bathed Petra and her outstretched arm. In her hand, a bottle.
“That lit faster than I thought it would. Here, take a sip. Not too much or you'll end back up in the same situation you're in now. I knew you had more than you should have earlier.”
William shook his head. “Thank you, but no.”
“Just take it. A small sip and you will feel better shortly.” She pushed the bottle into his hand, and he took it, though he'd rather not.
Bringing the bottle to his lips, he tilted it back and let a thimbleful amount coat his tongue. He handed it back to Petra while swallowing the foul liquid. It burned as it did before, and he coughed as it settled into his stomach.
“What is it?” he said. His nose wrinkled at the returning aftertaste of rotten blueberries and apples.
“Wine. Or it's supposed to be. I've had worse, but this is a new recipe a friend's working on. While it's not great, it does the job.” She waved the torch a second. “It seems to be a fine fuel, too,” she finished with a small laugh.
William's mind drifted to the last thing he'd thought he heard Petra say before he'd fallen asleep. He wanted to ask what she meant by I am the beast. He didn't believe that she meant it in the literal sense. That stuff was just stories.
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